|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 Posted: Wed Jul 10, 2013 2:36 pm
WHO: Revontulet, Doucette, Basil(/Banter?), Genie
WHEN: Weekend, matinee showtime
WHERE: Stealing Focus Theatre
WEATHER: Hot and sunny, not a cloud in the sky!
The sun was warm, and though Revontulet did not find that the temperature was uncomfortable, she disliked the sensation of summertime. Born in late spring, the frei did not understand the concept of other seasons just yet; she had not realized there would be a fall and then a winter before the cycle started once more. What the aurora had decided, however, was that the current situation did not appeal to her.
People seemed to diverge down two separate paths, some becoming energetic and eager for the warm, soothing rays of the sun, baring their skin on the beaches and even sometimes around town while the other half moaned and groaned and moved sluggishly from place to place dripping with an unflattering sweat. As the heat did not affect her, and she was entirely disinterested in sunbathing activities, Ren found herself squarely in the middle of the spectrum, a general lack of care or interest given to the whole idea of summertime. Mainly, it was the glowing brightness of the sun that made her feel just that side of ill and encouraged her preference for the night time.
Once, Revontulet had attempted to feed on the sun and her rune had given slow, sickening pulses throughout the rest of the day, like a heartbeat that was muddled and inconsistent, skipping beats unnaturally. If she needed to, Ren knew the sun would provide enough to get by, but its flavour was sour, nauseating, and it made her distrust the daytime and the summer that made the sun the focus of so much activity.
Her guardian on the other hand, was one of those people who seemed to blossom with the sun, a little bounce in her step as she walked and delightful chatter incessant as the two moved through town. Flowers were pointed at and birds were cooed to. Even Doucette’s outfit felt sunny, the baby blue and pale green dress swishing like the grass caught in a gentle breeze.
“Oh! There it is, just ahead!” Doe said excitedly, fluttering her free hand in the direction of the theatre, the cast on her left arm bound in a sling wrapped around her neck.
The aurora shifted her neon gaze towards the large, semi-ornate building the redhead was gesturing to. A musical, she’d said. Like a movie being performed right in front of you and with lots of beautiful singing. Revon doubted just how much she’d be interested in such a thing. It all sounded very...active to her, something Doucette would enjoy far more than she would. But the guardian had said it was old fashioned, set in the same period all her favourite movies were filmed, and so her interest had been peaked enough to tag along.
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Thu Jul 11, 2013 5:20 pm
The sun was beating down on the back of Genie's neck like a hammer. She felt like she was wilting and was hoping desperately that her spray-on deodorant would come through for her.
Earlier that day she'd gone to the bank and didn't bother changing back into her casual clothes. She wore a lavender collared shirt, sensible shoes, and the same pair of khakis she had worn to her brother's arraignment eleven years ago. A simple silver chain around her neck. In her experience, only out-of-towners deliberately dressed up for shows like these. As if it made some special difference what you were wearing while you were sitting in the dark for two hours.
Basil was strategically placed behind her. Even floating he was several inches higher than her and she hoped to find some relief from the heat in his shadow. He wore an interesting thrift-store find—A Frankenstein assembly of textures and fabrics. For the most part, it was a regular jean jacket with a beige fleece lining, but came with a gray detachable cotton hood like you would find on any sweatshirt, complete with drawstrings.
It didn't look like much on the hanger, but on Basil it seemed almost fashion-forward. He wore it well, gave it nice lines. Not to mention, having slipped it on in the store, Genie could say it was pretty damn comfortable.
The hood was both attached and up. Naturally.
Unfortunately for Genie, around lunch-time the sun had decided to change its position in the sky and she was back to baking again. They had been waiting almost ten minutes now to redeem their tickets. Out of boredom, Basil had started shredding his program.
Starting at the corners, he was tearing off little pieces and stuffing them methodically into his mouth. So far he had a wad roughly the size of a piece of chewing gum, adding each new piece with complicated strokes of his tongue. Flattening them down, rolling them up, stuffing them up into his gum and working them out again. Grinding the pulpy mass between his teeth until he felt ready to swallow and then starting all over. He picked at the paper, focused and ape-like.
Genie was quietly aware that Basil was behind her eating his program, but didn't feel the need to stop him. People did weirder things when they were bored, and after all, it was only paper. The wait wouldn't be too much longer.
She stood in place, fingering her necklace and throwing glances at the marquee. The excitement she felt on the walk over had cooled considerably, but was starting to wire up again. She'd heard really good things about this run of the show.
It should have been good. After all, this was kind of a celebration.
Only two payments left before she would finally be free of debt. A decade-long nightmare of wage-slaving—over! A world of opportunities were opening up. She could quit her job. Buy a house and stop renting. Stop throwing her money down a rat-hole. Give Basil his own bedroom. A real bedroom, with a door and a closet and a window he could look out of.
It would be a fresh new beginning for her. For Basil. For everybody. The kind of start she'd wanted him to have. She hadn't told him the news yet. She wasn't sure he'd understand that kind of enormity, but felt like something was in order. A treat. A show. And for Basil, a five-star meal.
"Kabb-rett?" He offered to the back of her head, reading off the marquee.
"Cabaret." She corrected.
"Oh." He replied. A space opened up in the queue and Genie robotically stepped forward. Not much longer now. She smiled, sort-of glancing over her shoulder.
"Hey, leave some room, okay? There's a lot of music in this show and I don't want you filling up on junk."
"Mmk." He mumbled, continuing to nibble at the corner of the brochure. Then suddenly his throat seized up. HCCK-UCHK.
He clapped his hand over his mouth with a percussive smack. Genie turned to look at him. What could be seen of his face above the hand was surprised and wide-eyed. His body convulsed a second time, the noise muffled into a quiet honk.
"Ohh lordy. Hiccups?"
A fast nod. Genie couldn't hold in a laugh. She checked the time on her phone and then patted his arm, "Hey, it happens. We're almost there, so try holding your breath or something? That usually works for me."
She smiled reassuringly, "Just hold your breath for about ten seconds at a time until it goes away. And if that doesn't work, we'll go inside and try to find a water foun...tain."
Her voice trailed off, her eyes squinting in the heat.
"What?"
"I... don't know." She nudged him and leaned out of line. Basil tried to look with her, but his eyesight was awful. He could only see so far before it all became a blurry haze. The faces of the other people were all pale ovals with shapeless bodies attached. But Genie could see, just slightly. Down the road. A ribbon, a rune... A body—half a body with the familiar smoothness. Floating. Like it was being led on an invisible pulley. There was a person too. They were approaching fast.
The couple standing behind them broke her focus.
"Hey lady. There's a space in line."
Genie blinked, a little startled at the row of faces behind them. Basil hiccuped softly in her ear. They were all staring with identical expressions. The look a dog gives you while you stand at the door, knowing the only thing standing between it and outside, is you.
Oh, I'm sorry, Princess. God forbid I leave six inches of space between you and the door for fifteen whole ******** seconds.
She rolled her eyes and gently maneuvered Basil in front of her, his eyes searching her for some kind of guidance. She held his shoulders and nudged him forward, putting her back protectively to the other people in line. Genie could handle a few mutters. It wouldn't ruin their evening.
She and Basil redeemed their tickets and went together into the lobby. Genie stood guard while Basil drank greedily from a water-fountain. Either standing in the sun for so long had dehydrated him, or he just didn't know when to stop. For the fifth time in as many minutes, she checked the time, her foot tapping.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Dangerous Conversationalist
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon Jul 15, 2013 10:47 am
Focusing her gaze on the large theatre building, the young frei allowed her wings to lift and display a mild interest. The building itself seemed to not stand out or draw attention on its own, but a large marquee with lights that would have no doubt been glittering in the dimmer hours drew the notice of any passer-by. Classic, removable black lettering brought the smallest of smiles upon the girl’s lips and she did, indeed, feel a bit like she could have been in one of her old-fashioned movies despite her more modern attire (which did not really scream fashionista in the first place).
Doucette’s own happy expression managed to brighten a few notches as she saw the tell-tale sign of Ren’s wings giving a little flutter of curiosity. These days the redhead spent almost more time watching those sea green appendages and their drifting, expressive actions more than her frei’s facial features. Revontulet seemed not to be one for wide, happy smiles or even tears. Emotion seemed to be something distant and reserved for occasions which required them outright to ensure a positive solution to a problem.
“If you enjoy this Ren, they change the show quite often.” Doe said, seizing the opportunity of the girl’s peaked interest to attempt to encourage a deeper one, one that might even possibly result in them leaving the house more often.
Little did Doucette know that the newborn left the house more than enough, just not when then redhead was entirely aware of the fact.
“Different shows come when different troupes perform, so you can see a ton of different plays.” For a short moment Doucette mentally catalogued some of the shows she knew came into town frequently before letting out a startling “OH!” a bit too loud and causing heads to turn towards them. “Oh Ren,” she breathed, quieter now, “You would so love Cirque du Soleil. They do such beautiful things. I promise to take you as soon as they come to town or whenever they come to a town nearby.”
Smiling and proud, the guardian turned back to the theatre, the distance closing in quickly. Revon, on the other hand, had now folded those wings into flat panes upon her back and the smile that made her features beautiful and ethereal had left her pale countenance looking somewhat solemn.
At Doucette’s outcry people had turned to stare, but now people were simply staring longer than the outburst had required and the one who’d been at fault was not the subject of the newly idly gossip that was obviously springing up behind hands held over moving lips.
Usually Revontulet did not encourage a lot of interest, for people didn’t look down far enough to realize there was something not entirely right about her body. As long as her wings were folded and there was something blocking her lower body or she wore a dress long enough to cover most of her form people mistook her for human more often than not.
If her hair wasn’t glowing, of course.
To be honest, however, it was not so much that people were staring that bothered her (for the girl enjoyed the attention for the most part), but the fact that Doucette had not thought about her actions or seemed to notice that said actions had created such a consequence.
Lofting her wings once more to a soft gasp from those still watching, Revon moved to the posters which advertised the shows which were ‘Coming Soon’, her gaze focused as Doucette waited in the slightly shorter line for tickets that had been pre-booked. As the ferry sometimes ran off schedule, the redhead always ensured that anything which required a ticket and could be purchased beforehand would be purchased beforehand.
“Come on Ren,” Doe called, waving the tickets in the air like a large paper beacon for the aurora to hone in on. With a last glance of the posters Revon moved towards her guardian and slipped into the cool lobby.
Although the temperature of the sun didn’t bother her, the scent of the chilled atmosphere appealed to her and she took a deep breath upon entry, wings rising and falling with the intake and exhale of the crisp and slightly perfumed but still musky interior. As her wings expanded she rose a bit higher, idly inspecting the area before her gaze fell upon a couple by the water fountain – or at least she thought the woman was a guardian and not simply impatiently waiting on her own go at the fountain after the male.
Without a word to Doucette she drifted off in the direction of the hoodie’d individual, drifting back to an average height upon her approach. The smart thing to do would have been stop a polite distance away, but instead the girl drifted close, like the slow seeping of water that neither rushes nor trickles. Her approach would likely be noticed, but she did not hesitate in her movements to ensure the attention was given.
“Hello.”
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon Jul 15, 2013 6:03 pm
Without feet, Raevans had a tendency to sneak up on you. It was only a second too late that Genie saw a blur of teal pass by. She glanced up from her cell-phone, a hand helplessly shooting up. "Oh—Don't...!"
Basil went tense, and there was a noise. A sputtering noise, like blowing your nose into wet tissue paper.
He turned over a blade-winged shoulder. With his hood up only a nose and mouth came into profile. The mouth opened—stretched in fact, and two teeth descended from fleshy ligaments. The tips were as fine as hypodermic needles in their pink-white sheaths. Snake teeth. He hissed wetly—a short, whispery sound like the puff of an inhaler.
Genie hovered a hand by his elbow as he turned the rest of the way, the teeth folding back into place. Under the hood, his expression didn't say hostile so much as startled. His mouth set into a deep frown. He wiped it on his sleeve, leaving a long damp smear.
Genie made a one-noted sound that was maybe a laugh. She shook her head and took him fully by the wrist, "Hey, you okay? I'm surprised you didn't hear her coming..."
"M'alright," he muttered in an undertone, interviewing the other Raevan with cauldron-black eyes. His eyes lingered on her face a second too long before darting at the carpet. He cleared his throat into his fist and waved his other hand broadly towards the fountain. "Sorry—hi. Did you want to...?"
He sighed and looked at Genie, as if expecting her to smooth the introduction. Genie wasn't paying attention to him, scanning the crowd for a guardian. Usually in situations like these they weren't too far behind.
He sniffed, turning to the girl with the only smart reply he could think of, "I'm Basil..."
|
|
|
|
|
|
Dangerous Conversationalist
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Jul 17, 2013 2:37 pm
The guardian had turned away to buy drinks: a water for Ren and a bottle of Diet Coke for herself. Nothing fancy today, thank you. Besides, the redhead was not really what you would consider a major drinker to begin with. Simply drinks were just considered more refreshing than others.
“Here’s your water Ren,” the woman said cheerfully, turning around to find a woman with a severe, black haircut and an expression that did not appear pleased to be mistaken for this Ren. With a shake of her head the woman motioned for Doucette to move out of the way so she could purchase her own food and drink for the program.
Frowning, Doe looked around for her frei. Usually the woman would have been more anxious over the sudden loss of her charge, but she knew the girl had come into the theatre and thus was unlikely to have left suddenly. Sadly, Revontulet had a tendency to wander off rather frequently and the redhead had grown somewhat accustomed to the game of marco-polo they often played. This was just a slightly more busy, but smaller spaced, version of the one they usually engaged in.
“No,” the girl said simply in reply to the offer for the water fountain. Lifting a hand to her neck, the girl fiddled lightly with the necklace there, twisting it back and forth between her fingers, “I came to say hi.” With a smile, the aurora stood her ground, looking between the woman who was clearly the guardian of the frei.
It was not that the other’s warning had fallen on deaf ears or that she hadn’t noticed his choking reaction to her approach, but she seemed either unwilling or unaware that an apology was the polite course of action for sneaking up on another person.
Then again, sneaking up was not exactly what she had been doing, if she’d needed to defend her actions.
At the other’s name Revon blinked once, a slow, fluid motion. “Basil,” she repeated with interest. She had heard the word before, but where? How did she know this name? “Ah, like the herb?”
Ren’s question was mirrored with a rise of her wings and a soft, curious flutter that made her hair dance about her shoulders, drifting about like delicate leaves. “I’m Revontulet. It means fox fire.” The girl rarely offered up the meaning of her name, but somewhere in her mind she’d realized perhaps her comment on his name being an herb would be an insult to him and she wanted the other to know that her own name had an odd origin. Insults had not been the intention.
“Revontulet.” The echo of her name came from somewhere behind her, sighed in something of a defeatist tone as the guardian come up. “How many time do I have to ask you not to wander? I know it’s a small place, but if you want to look at something just tell me fir—st..” Doucette’s words drifted off as she discovered the source of Ren’s interest and she put on a chipper smile, shuffling the bottle of soda into the crook between the cast on her arm and her body, just in case she needed to shake hands. “I’m so sorry. She hasn’t done anything, has she?”
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon Jul 22, 2013 5:07 am
"Ah, like the herb?"
He slowly shook his head, "Well, no. That's me..."
He spoke in a barely audible mutter, too spacey to be offended. Frankly he didn't care if he shared his name with an herb, an animal, or a bodily secretion. It was the phrasing specifically that had thrown him off. As though she didn't believe him. A case of mistaken identity.
He noticed the way her hair plumed around her shoulders from a mysterious breeze. That's pretty, he observed casually.
From wings? He almost hadn't noticed them. With their translucence and the way she carried them, they were pretty easy to miss. Not at all like his own, so clunky and violent-looking.
He was staring at them when she added something about her own name. He was only half-listening. Fox fire? He quickly gave her a once-over and didn't see the connection. He blinked and shook his head, giving up. The whole exchange was so... funny. And not ha-ha funny. More like they had gotten all their wires crossed. As if instead of taking one step forward, they were two steps back. Not just strangers, but awkward strangers. Basil looked away as though silence was the only graceful response. Already his face felt warm as he studied the floor.
That's when the woman approached, and Genie waved her over with a smile, "Heyyy! I figured someone was lookin' for her." She spread her hands and smiled wider, "No, no! She's alright. She just gave my guy a scare is all."
She saw the way the woman rearranged her belongings to free a hand, and Genie instinctively stuck out her own, "Always nice to meet someone else with the Lab. I'm Genie," she gestured vaguely to her right, "and this is Basil."
Mindful of the cast, she gave the woman's hand two gentle shakes before bringing attention to it, "Ouch. What happened?"
|
|
|
|
|
|
Dangerous Conversationalist
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Fri Oct 11, 2013 8:13 pm
Ren continued to smile politely at the boy, a docile, rather neutral expression upon her features. There was little that he was offering in terms of conversation, and she was not exceptional in starting them. When his attention diverted to the carpet she too followed the gaze and studied the woven pattern with mild interest.
The theatre was lovely, really. It was a nice, cool place to get away from the hot day and if Doucette was to be believed the event inside was to be equally as enjoyable. “Is it your first?” the frei asked Basil, though the direction of her eyes and the lilt of her lashes indicated the question was better directed to the flooring the floated above.
“What lovely names! Genie and Basil!” Doucette glowed with enthusiasm as she shook the other woman’s hand, her curls bouncing with her excitement. “I’m Doucette and I see Ren already introduced herself. Do you guys come to the theatre often?” Doe’s large blue eyes were questioning but in an open, hopeful way rather that interrogating. She dearly hoped that if they were frequent attendees of the activities, and Revon enjoyed the shows as much as her guardian hoped, then the four of them could become fast friends.
For a long moment Doucette wasn’t quite sure what Genie meant with her question, but after a moment the newborn reached over and tapped lightly upon the cast clinging to the woman’s arm and she took in a deep breath of embarrassment. Oh yes. That. “Got caught in a storm and all that nonsense,” she said, her cheeks tinging an unflattering shade of pink.
“She got rescued by a helicopter,” Ren added matter-of-fact, doing nothing for Doe’s shame in the matter.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Dec 03, 2013 11:34 pm
It seemed as though Ren and her guardian were already totally in sync with each other, leaving Genie and Basil in a similarly compatible state of unease.
“Is it your first?”
Basil was preoccupied with the pattern in the carpet just then. Beige paisleys on a maroon background, looking like little amoebas swimming in a petri dish. He glanced up a second too late, his eyes clearing.
"My first what?" He said, feeling already like the dumb sidekick in a movie that's never quite up to speed. He quickly understood what she meant by context, but rather than answer her he glanced away.
She was very attractive, which somehow embarrassed him more. It was more of an observation than it was any personal interest on his part, but he still couldn't help feeling like she had something over him already. Something he should be trying to appeal to. Make a better first impression. It was a surprising amount of pressure for something so harmless and superficial.
He grabbed his upper lip with his bottom row of teeth.
("You're pathetic.") The Other sighed.
Doucette chimed in, Do you guys come to the theatre often?
There was a half-second pause on Genie's part. "Haha, no..." She said with the pretense of a smile. She lived in this city. There was no good reason why she shouldn't be more cultured when so many good theaters and playhouses were just a bus-trip away. She felt like a rube in her own neighborhood.
"This is more of a special occasion." She nodded her head toward Basil, "He likes music, so who knows. Maybe he'll develop a taste for it."
She added hastily, "I've seen the movie half a dozen times, though! But then I'll watch just about anything with Liza. Who else could pull off that haircut, am I right?"
If Genie was at all self-conscious, it was totally parlayed by Doucette's obvious sensitivity to her cast.
Wow, her face got red in a hurry, she noticed. I bet she sunburns something awful.
She spread her hands, "Oh wow, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean--"
“She got rescued by a helicopter,”
She tried (badly) to hide a smirk. Somehow Ren's frankness put Genie more at ease. Made Doucette's situation more relatable. From the mouths of babes. There were plenty of times in the past she had wished that Basil had developed a better filter, but now that her wish seemed to be granted and Basil never missed an opportunity to shut up, she didn't know if she liked it.
Although Ren's remark seemed to warrant further interest, she had to do the polite thing and drop the subject for Doucette's sake. "Haha, well that does sound exciting. But like I was saying, I didn't mean to bring up a sore point. You know, stuff happens, even to the best of us."
She took another glance at the clock on her cell-phone, "Well uh, we were about to get some drinks real quick." She dug into her pants pocket for the ticket-stubs, "What row are you in? Maybe we'll be sitting near each other?"
|
|
|
|
|
|
Dangerous Conversationalist
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun Dec 08, 2013 3:24 pm
"Your first musical," she said with a smile, turning her attention fully back to the frei as he bit his lip. It was rather rude of her to be turning her attention to the carpet, even if she was following his cue. Although the guardian had admitted that it was indeed their first attendance, the aurora felt like she owed it to the other to allow him to answer. It had been her fault, after all, that she had been rather vague in her question to him.
Turning her head slightly when Genie mentioned Basil's interest in music she did decide to pull that information into their conversation. The three sections of her wings lifted off her back like fingers stretching before settling back down once more, one on top of the other until they looked no more than a thin green shell upon her back. "You like music? What kind of music is your favorite? I like something Doucette calls 'Ratpack'. But only if I can play it on a...on a..."
Revontulet's eyes clouded somewhat as her brows drew together low over her eyes and her lips took on a slight frown, her mind racking through itself for the right word. What was that thing that one played vinyl records on? A record player? That certain could have covered it, but she was sure there was a better word for it. Something that fit the device perfectly. It frustrated the young one that she simply could not find the word - could not pull it from the tip of her tongue.
As Genie spoke, Doucette nodded eagerly, shaking her head and giving a soft snort to dismiss her concern over inquiring about the cast. Sadly it was just in her nature to react awkwardly to things, but it was not a problem that the other guardian needed to concern herself with.
Rather, Doucette was happy to return the conversation back to the musical, letting out a light laugh on the comment of Liza's hair. "Oh! Absolutely!! I would be so happy to be so lucky in the hair department," the redhead quipped, reaching her free hand to touch at the expansive halo of curls which were more frizz than anything manageable or elegant.
What row are you in?
The question seemed to startle her, as if they were where they had meant to be all along, standing around awkwardly in the lobby. Taking a quick peak at her ticket she read the numbers off, her gaze drifting to the tickets in Genie's hands to try and read the numbers on them. They didn't look very close...
For a short moment Doucette was rather crest-fallen, but then she thought perhaps she could convince the people sitting next to Genie and Basil to trade seats with her and Ren so the group could sit together. Surely if Ren and the boy had music in common they could either enjoy or critique the musical as it went on if they were sitting together. And it had been a while since Doe had watched the musical in any form so it would be great to have Genie to explain anything she felt lost with. Perhaps she could get that settled while the other two got their drinks.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Dec 11, 2013 4:08 pm
You like music?
He turned toward her, flashing his eyebrows. He looked hopeful. Finally, something he could talk about. Something he knew.
He watched the way she struggled for a word. The way he could actually see the machinations of her mind trying to work it out, until she eventually gave up. Resigning herself to the empty space where a word should have gone.
He could relate to that frustration.
Not so long ago, that was him. Fighting to finish a sentence. Plumbing the shallows of a limited vocabulary. She suddenly seemed a lot less intimidating.
"A turntable?" He offered, his voice rising an octave.
He had six of them in his room that he liked experimenting with. Playing two records at once to see how the sounds compared. Composing fusion genres in his head and playing his favorite albums backwards and forwards. He knew what sounded good together. It just came to him naturally, exploring his instincts and intuitions in the privacy of his loft.
Nothing soothed him as much as passing an afternoon with his records. Even when he wasn't composing.
What kind of music is your favorite?
His smile quailed, thinking of how to answer. "Uhh..." he said, "I like all kinds, I guess..." What a cop-out. Be more specific. He touched his neck, tracing his fingers over the bruise there. "I like Neil Sedaka a lot..."
He loved Neil with his high clear voice. Calendar Girl, Breaking Up Is Hard To Do, Little Devil? Simple and catchy, and just a little bit corny. The good kind of corny.
He nodded, "I was on a big Sedaka kick for a while." More like two straight years. "Lots of doowop, actually... But uh, lately I'm into The Guess Who? The Replacements? Ehh... just about anything with Paul Westerberg." It figured. Their voice quality was more similar to Basil's. Low and rough around the edges, and while lacking in range or even technical singing ability, did not detract from their listenability. Those bands gave him a different perception of what music could be. Different sounds. Different feelings. Paul couldn't hit a high C, but the guy had soul. An artful artlessness. He made a roadtrip feel like a religious experience. Painted pictures of garages and drug dens and stolen kisses and lost expectations.
Basil once listened to Unsatisfied on a loop for eight hours before he'd had the presence of mind to get up and change it. That's how it usually went. Once he found something he liked, he tended to overdo it. But it was just one color in a very broad spectrum. He wasn't a snob or anything. He appreciated all kinds of sounds. In a way, he was sort of obligated...
"What about you?" He asked, eager to deflect attention off himself before he started to babble, but remembering halfway through the sentence that she'd already told him. Rat Pack. Did she mean Frankie? He could do a pretty mean Frankie...
Usually Genie had to twist his arm to get him to sing in public, but now he oddly felt like indulging her. He'd recently learned he could harmonize with himself. Sing two tones at the same time. Maybe he could do Frankie and Bing's big number from High Society. Really do it up. At home that was always a crowd-pleaser. ♫ What a swell party this is. ♫
He appeared to swallow something, clearing his throat, when just then Genie touched him on the shoulder. "Better shuffle if you want that giant root beer, bub."
He jumped. He felt his confidence evaporate at her touch and his voice crawl back down into his throat to hide."Oh! Oh okay... He shot a glance at Ren, hurried, "Uh... Bye!"
Genie nudged him along, turning to smile at their new acquaintances, "Listen, you guys seem really cool. Maybe we'll catch each other after the show? Grab something to eat?" She left on the offer, her hand on Basil's back as they went to the concession stand. Basil briefly glanced at them from over his shoulder.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Dangerous Conversationalist
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat Dec 21, 2013 2:03 pm
"Turntable," the frei repeated, her expression somewhat crinkled around the edges, as if she were flipping through a mental dictionary to verify the information he'd given her. Not that Revontulet had felt like the older frei would have mislead her, but there was that other feeling, when she'd been unable to find the word in the first place, that there had been some word that was less descriptive and more unique.
It didn't take the aurora long to give up on the endeavor however and turn a cleared expression back to Basil, a smile growing on her lips. "Yes, I like it best on the turntable. The music feels more...in the moment." It had looked as though she were going to pause again, as if she were going to once more struggle for that elusive word, but instead there was nothing more to the action than a little intake of breath, the action of a reverent believer in the touch of vinyl under her fingers and the soft, scratchy, and somewhat far away crooning of her favorite artists.
His mention of Neil Sedaka brought a look of open interest into the girl's features as she seemed to lean closer as she listened to Basil speak. Neil was not her favorite artists, so she didn't exactly have all his albums or pick his work out of a crowd when she had a choice in the matter, but his songs were both catchy and mellow and his voice was nice so she enjoyed it from time to time. The other artists he mentioned did not bring even a flicker of recognition and she shook her head slightly to show as much. Perhaps she would look them up when her and Doucette returned home.
It was certainly good that the boy didn't mention is music listening habits to Ren. She would have felt ashamed of her own dabbling, but a drop in what appeared to be an ocean of interest for the other.
Not that she could understand that music and sound were what he was literally made of and that trying to compete would have been a futile gesture in the first place, but Revon's interest in music would likely have even paled in comparison to an 'average' user's listening time. Although the aurora had her favorites, and there were times when Doucette had to ask her to please, god, change the record, it was rare that she held deep conversations about music or sought out outlets for what could would have been a passion for others.
His question cause the newborn to purse her lips slightly, gathering the names she knew and sorting through which she wanted to say. "I like Cab Calloway...and of course Bing Crosby...Josephine Baker." Revontulet pulled her lower lip quite gently between her teeth, not wanting to be altogether unlady like and chew on it directly.
Little did Basil know that Ren would have quite possibly swooned to have heard such a rendition from High Society, for although she hadn't said Frank Sinatra, his voice was often being crooned sweetly in the confines of her room. Frank's voice, along with Bing's, would have easily been ranked among her favorites, but that's where his evasive answer of enjoying lots of stuff would have really been echoed by the frei. She enjoyed many things, but it was hard for her to truly say she had a favorite.
It seemed weird to Ren, to label something as a 'favorite', as if it somewhat diminished the other things she liked. And that wasn't right to her. There were so many things she liked, but none of them could be, in the most literal sense of the word, called her favorite.
Doucette seemed oblivious to the musical conversation, somewhat distracted with her new, self appointed mission. Genie's question startled her somewhat and a little double blink indicated the red head had let her wits wander for a little moment. "Oh! Yes! It would be so wonderful to meet up with you after the show. I'd really love that a lot. Wouldn't you, Ren?"
Turning to look at her charge she smiled at the expression on the moonstone's features. Although Ren was often friendly and outgoing, it was rare that she looked so outright engaged with others. There was a tendency of her girl to be somewhat aloof in her friendliness, as if she would be happy offer the world but one shouldn't quite expect it from her.
"Sure..." the frei replied, her expression cooling somewhat at the information that they were going to be parting ways. It wasn't favorable to her, but at least there was the possibility that they would be able to speak later, and there was always this promise of Doucette's that the show was going to be worth paying attention to. That was, after all, what they had come for in the first place.
---
The pair hurried (well, Doucette hurried, Ren moved at her usual pace, as always unconcerned with the redhead's enthusiasm) to the seats she'd seen on Genie's tickets, spying the elderly couple in the seats she now desired for herself and Ren.
"Excuse me," she cooed in her sweetest tone, almost willing her freckles to perk up and add to the innocent niceties she was murmuring. Thankfully, upon catching sight of Ren and the mention and implication of 'her friend', little else was needed to be mentioned, for apparently the two had no interest in being next to the freis.
Not that it mattered to Doucette how her mission had been completed, only that when Genie and Basil came down the aisle to her seat they'd see Doe leaning over the back of hers with a big smile and a wave and the back of Ren's head as she stared at the curtain, pretending she wasn't actually with this woman.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Jan 01, 2014 11:01 pm
Basil had a very short list of things he found annoying enough to remark on, but somewhere near the top of that list was the feeling of a damp soda cup in his hands.
"Gross." He muttered. The cup was cartoonishly oversized. Big enough to comfortably accommodate an extended family of sea monkeys. Big enough to drown a rodent in. He was holding it in his sleeves, which he had tugged down over his hands like mittens.
Genie steered him carefully down the aisle by his forearm. She smiled when she heard his sipping turn into astonished sputtering as they entered the huge room with its vaulted ceilings and dimly glowing stage-lights. Basil had been in movie theaters before, but he was made freshly aware of a certain... mystery in the room. Something intimidating and regal about those tall velvet curtains. The hushed whispers and soft shadows. The acoustics of the room making everything echoey and blurry and dream-like.
He thought of that crazy pop-eyed lady in Sunset Blvd. The aging actress, rearing back from the camera in her final moments like a sequined viper, murmuring to her audience in that antiquated stage-voice. Holding them captive with nothing but her maddened stare. "Just us, the cameras, and those wonderful people out there in the dahrrk..."
He really loved that demure little way she said "dark". He practiced it sometimes, because it gave him chills.
He wanted to say it now, but his mouth was full of soda. He swished it in his teeth, then swallowed audibly. It felt sacred here. Too sacred for voices.
"You'll love this." Genie said absently.
Holding her drink in her elbow, she guided Basil with one hand and consulted their tickets with the other. An usher hastily pointed them in the right direction, at which point Genie noticed a smiling face looking back at them.
"Oh!" She said, pointing with her little finger for Basil's benefit. He looked where she indicated, blinking rapidly as though waking from a trance. Their pace quickened, and Basil listened to the swish of the ice in their cups. He absorbed it on an impulse, the glow from his rune briefly bathing their seats in a pale white light. Illuminating the frizzy-haired woman's face in a sea of darkness. 'Daahrk-ness...' he mouthed to no-one.
Genie leaned over Dou, sliding her drink in the arm-rest. "So we meet again!"
Through a series of eye-gestures, she quietly coordinated a seat change. Urging Dou to open up a space so that the Freis could sit together.
Although he showed some reluctance at the idea, Basil was very biddable, and had a tendency to be placed like an object into chairs or rooms. When Genie pressed him on the shoulder, he sat. Almost helplessly so. Not as though he were afraid of Genie, or even obliging her. Just clueless. More helpless if she didn't tell him when to sit or stand.
His getting comfortable was like a performance in itself. He had to be conscious of his wings, fanning them out to rest flat against the seat-back without snagging or tearing the fabric. After, he seemed to spread like a liquid, setting his elbows on both his arm-rests. Had he legs, he would have placed them wide apart. He dropped his cup into the cup-holder--where it made a loud splashing sound--rolled his sleeves up his forearms, and folded his hands on top of his chest.
Periodically he bent his head down to make awkward grabs at the straw with his lips, like a horse trying to scoop feed from an outstretched hand. Once he'd fastened on, he would linger there and drink for as long as eight seconds at a time. Partly it was genuine thirst, and partly a bit of an oral fixation that left him forever chewing or swallowing. Having an excuse not to talk was an added bonus.
He stole the occasional side-glance at Ren during his visits to the cup, hoping she didn't find this awkward at all. If she found him boring or standoffish. Wondering if she would have preferred to be by her woman. He wouldn't have blamed her. He got the impression they were quite close, and who was he?
God.
What he knew about the stage he could fit in his nostril.
At some point his elbow jabbed her shoulder, and he quickly folded it next to him like a bird with an injured wing. "Oop! Sorry." He mumbled, surrendering the arm-rest and turning his attention quickly to the curtains as the house-lights went down.
"What's happening?"
|
|
|
|
|
|
Dangerous Conversationalist
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat Feb 08, 2014 10:00 am
Doucette had grinned brightly and lifted a hand as the other guardian’s face registered the recognition. A small voice in the back of her mind had finally decided to say maybe this wasn’t the best of ideas, being that she’d intruded on Genie and Basil’s day rather bullheadedly and without their consent, but the voice was given a little shove out of the way. Too late to be worrying about such things now, obviously! Rather, the woman gave an apologetic smile, something along the lines of asking for forgiveness rather than permission should there be any disappointment in Genie’s features.
Thankfully the other didn’t seem offended by the redhead’s presumptuousness and a happy blush warmed her freckled cheeks. Whatever the setting arrangement the other desired, Doucette was happy to accommodate, for it bothered her not who would be next to who during the show. It was comforting to be spending the time with like-minded folks all the same to her.
“Yes! I hope you don’t mind!” Doe said, her voice somewhat breathy as her conscious scolded her once more while the woman juggled her drink and the boy. “I thought Ren would be happy to get to know Basil a bit better.”
Revontulet turned her head somewhat at the sound of her name, peering at the guardian out of the corner of her eyes before refocusing her sights high above at the chandelier that had rather immediately and relentlessly captured her attention. It was not uncommon for the redhead to pin her problems and compulsive actions on others, and it rarely bothered the frei, as long as there weren’t any repercussions for her. Although it was true she was happy to continue her conversation with the boy, there’d been no such compulsion or begging of Doucette to allow them to switch seats so she could gab over the show. Such things were far from her style.
The redhead’s white lies would only backfire on her eventually when someone took offense to being forced to take the blame. No need for the young aurora to help that along.
As Basil took his seat, oozing into position with something of an awkward fluidity, Revontulet couldn’t help but to watch. He seemed to move in ways that were wholly unlike herself, and it was rather intriguing. Where he melted into a slumped position, she had sat poised, hands folded upon her ‘lap’ and attention focused forward, ready for the action. While he struggled to control the flow of his wings and the angle in which they rested, the aurora had, with barely a thought involved, folded them seamlessly upon her back, like an origami trick being performed.
Not speaking came as naturally as speaking to the girl, one moment her warm, somewhat infectious smile lighting up her features, the next a neutral expression settling there. It was as if she could sit as a statue for hours, the firmness of her skin and the silence of her lending to the image. There was nothing uncomfortable to Ren about the moment, and she seemed unwilling to turn it into one. Was the show not about to start? Their conversation was likely to be interrupted if they were to begin engaging in anymore more interesting that a conversation about the weather. She was comfortable to let him drink while she observed.
There was something both gaudy and attractive about the theater and she could not quite pin point her feelings on the matter. On the one hand, there was quite a lot of red around her, a color the aurora frankly despised for its garishness. And yet, the way it had been used and the things it had been partnered with, it made it somewhat acceptable. Perhaps it was the feeling that Revontulet were sitting in a different time, a period gone past, that made her feel more relaxed about the whole process.
Suddenly there was a nudge, causing her to blink and bring herself back from her thoughts. Turning her head, Ren watched as Basil pulled his arm back from the seat. Quickly she reached out, resting a hand on the elbow he was attempting to retract. “It’s fine,” she said, feeling somewhat awkward about whether she should smile, or perhaps give a soft laugh? Rather she simply looked at him, as if the wide circle of her lashes could convince him that she was not inconvenienced.
Tragically the lights were dimming and Basil perhaps missed the look, but she gave the slightest of squeezes to his arm before removing it, as if repeating that it was ok. Her arms were so thin, they didn’t much need anywhere to go, didn’t need their own armrest to occupy. If he didn’t take it, it would simply remain barren, and that seemed wasteful to the girl.
“It’s starting,” Ren replied, genuine excitement coloring her tone, her lips curling into a smile at the sight of the curtain beginning to rise.
The Theater. How dramatic!
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Oct 01, 2014 7:20 pm
Basil looked down at her hand, his arm frozen partway between coming off the armrest and moving down to his side. It hung suspended there like a bird or a butterfly had landed on it and he didn't want to frighten it away.
“It’s fine,” she told him.
When he looked at her face, she didn't seem annoyed. As the house-lights went down, he thrilled at the brief squeeze she gave him, making him break into a coy and private smile. He was able to hide it in the dark, but the armrest stayed tellingly empty.
It's starting! she whispered.
The curtains opened and the stage was completely dark. After a few long seconds of the audience muttering and coughing and page-turning, the spotlight came on with a tension-shattering THNNK.
Revealing The Emcee: A slim young man in a Nazi officer's trenchcoat, made of a shiny leather-like material that seemed to make more of a sexual statement than a political one. Above the collar his face was done in white-pancake, his makeup vampy and garish. Babydoll lips stood out in stoplight red, his eyes flapping under the weight of false eyelashes and thick blue shadow.
He opened with the show’s signature trilingual number "Wilkommen", over the course of which he shucked the trenchcoat (sliding it off to an unseen stagehand) to reveal a much more liberated costume that toed the line between drag-show and male-revue.
Basil watched, stricken, as he capered across the stage shirtless with magician-white gloves and black Lederhosen. The Lederhosen's fly was wide open but were miraculously held upright by a complex configuration of suspenders that were incidentally rigged to push his groin forward; A puckish remark about the modesty and function of clothing.
("Hey, you try vearing thees thing! Eet is like a spider-veb and I am ze fly...")
Around his bare neck was a classic bowtie, rose-pink.
The spotlight widened as he began to introduce The Orchestra and Cabaret Girls, most of them surly-faced (and some dubiously female). It was very in-your-face. Lots of bright colors, gymnastic dance, and physical comedy.
Genie winced. There was an awful lot of skin up there. Lots of things... wobbling. Of course she knew that going in, but realized too late that she hadn't taken the time to prepare Basil for it beforehand. God, it hadn’t even occurred to her to give him some kind of warning. Literally anything but nothing.
Hindsight being 20/20, she was gripped yet again by one of those split-second decisions that seemed to come up so often in Raevan-care. Re: The dissonance between their physical and emotional maturity. How a Raevan looked on the outside wasn't always the best indicator of their ability to...
She glanced beside her. Dou had certainly seemed comfortable bringing Ren here, and from the sound of it they'd seen plenty of shows together. Shows where they could appreciate vulgarity in its proper context, be it historical or artistic. Except there it was called avant-garde, or some other word you learned in eighth-grade English.
Unless she was just totally desensitized at this point, if Ren wasn’t bothered by it, there was probably some hope for Basil that he wouldn’t get his head completely twisted around. And in his defense, he did watch a lot of late-night television…
She kept an eye on him, even though it meant leaning rudely into Dou's scope of vision. It was difficult to tell in this light, but he seemed to be handling it okay. When it became clear he wasn’t ramping up to an outrageous display of horror or humiliation, she gave herself permission to ease off. Inch by inch. Until she turned her eyes forward.
If she wasn’t mistaken, she was even sure she’d heard him laugh, albeit it might have been for lack of a better reaction. A hysterical response.
He did that sometimes.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Dangerous Conversationalist
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Thu Oct 09, 2014 6:30 pm
Revontulet’s eyes narrowed slightly as the lights dimmed, hoping to focus in the fading light of the theater. She was certain she had seen the edges of his lips begin to curl, certain it had not simply been the shifting and flickering of the newly created shadows across the audience. Although the aurora felt confidently in her assessment, she made no mention or further indication that it had been noticed.
Instead, Ren turned her head towards the stage, a curtain of hair gone dark in the dim theater slipping over her shoulder with a little bounce. Fingers were lifted to brush just a few messy locks back behind one ear so she might better peak out the corner of her eyes at him.
“Do you want to switch seats?” Doucette whispered to Genie, aware of the guardian’s concern but not uncomfortable with her leaning around. The sound was slightly too loud, the woman no good with hushed tones, and received a Shh! from a disgruntled man behind the pair.
True, the redhead was not showing an outward concern for the sensibilities of her charge, but internally she was rather knotted.
Honestly! She had just seen something old-timey-looking and thought it a grand idea to engage with her charge.
Doucette had not given the slightest look into what the whole thing was about. Somehow she’d managed to breeze through the comment about Liza’s hair (Who the heck is Liza anyway?) through the general assessment that anyone who didn’t have her hair was luckier than her, but the one that truly knew anything about this stuff was Ren.
If she didn’t know Revon would throw an absolute fit about being taken away from it all, and brought into a negative spotlight, the two of them would probably have left after the sight of that first bow-tie.
Should the lights have been bright enough, the other woman would have seen quite the spectacular blush upon her round, freckled cheeks. Especially when the host and the cabaret girls began grind-humping across the stage.
Now that she could see Genie was concerned, Doe felt better about not being the only one in an emotional tizzy about the whole ordeal, but didn’t want to add fuel to the fire. Not wanting to upset the man behind her once more, the Irish woman motioned at her seat with a tilt of her head and a furrow of her brows over wide eyes.
For her own, Revontulet wasn’t having any problem with the prancing, wobbling, warbling things up on the stage. Her fingers tapped out the little numbers and notes on her ribbon and from time to time, when she felt truly confident she could follow along, she’d ever so softly humm the tune along with the show under her breath.
The aurora had seen this before in her collection of movies, most certainly unbeknownst to Doucette. Her favorite song, by far, was Mein Herr. The aurora moved closer towards the edge of her seat as the song built upon itself, excitement in her face and wings raising without conscious effort in her fervor.
“Hey, watch it freak.” The irritable man who had shushed Doucette a moment earlier now leaned forward in an attempt to push Ren’s wings away and out of his view.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
